


New York

by capsiclewidow



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 19:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsiclewidow/pseuds/capsiclewidow
Summary: Some days were okay. Some weren’t. None of them were ever good.It came in waves. She’d be fine for a while - not good, only fine - and then suddenly she’d reach into her closet for a clean shirt, pull one out that didn’t belong to her, and Steve would find her curled up in bed wearing one of Clint’s old flannels shaking with tears she refused to let him see. She hated it, despised the person she’d turned into, which made everything worse. She wouldn’t speak to him for days at a time, but he’d still be there, making sure she ate and drank water and worked out every once in a while and didn’t spend too much time alone.Two years and he still refused to leave her.(Inspired by the songNew Yorkby Ed Sheeran)





	New York

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a oneshot based on this song for a long time, and while I had the basics of the plot figured out from the beginning, it ended up fitting nicely into a post-snap timeline. It wasn't supposed to be this sad, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't make them cry a little, right? ;) I do recommend listening to the song or looking up the lyrics if you haven't heard it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I refuse to believe Steve Rogers fucked off to Brooklyn and left Natasha alone at the compound for five years thanks for coming to my ted talk
> 
> Also just a heads up, there is definitely the insinuation of some pretty deep depression in this fic. If that bothers you, please be aware of it before reading <3 Rating is for that and mild language.

“Get up.”

Natasha glanced up just in time for her jacket to land in her lap. She didn’t move, just raised her eyes to stare at Steve where he was standing in the doorway of her room.

“What.”

“Get _up_,” he repeated, stressing the words urgently.

“Why?”

“We’re going for a ride.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him and pushed her jacket off of her lap, turning her attention back to her tablet. “I’m fine, Rogers.”

“No, you’re not.” She ignored him. But, being Steve, he didn’t accept that answer. “When was the last time you even went outside?”

“I know what you’re doing,” she muttered lowly. He let out a long sigh and entered into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She finally looked up at him again from where she was leaning against the pillows. He was giving her _that_ look again, the same sad, helpless one he always had whenever he saw her spiraling again.

_Spiraling_. That’s all her life was now. Sam was gone and Wanda was gone and James and Clint and Laura and the kids and _everyone_. Tony left, moving further upstate with Pepper, essentially cutting them all off as soon as the baby was born. Bruce moved back to the city and they rarely heard from him anymore. Thor left for Norway and never looked back.

It was just the two of them now. Just the two of them wandering the dark, deserted halls of the compound that once had so much life. And Steve wasn’t always there, he worked in the city and gave her the space she forced him to give her.

Some days were okay. Some weren’t. None of them were ever good.

Most of them were spent like this, Natasha hiding in her room, sleeping at any hour she could manage, distracting herself with work. If managing a group of people who wanted to be anywhere but here and who could handle themselves was considered work. But someone had to do it, someone had to keep everything organized. Someone had to answer the phone calls and keep notes and speak for the Avengers in the absence of….well, everyone.

Steve helped when he could, but she knew his heart wasn’t in it. She knew he stuck around because of her, she knew he didn’t want to be here. He’d stepped down, let her do what she wanted with the team, content with running a crisis center in Brooklyn and leading support groups and doing everything in his power to help as many people as he could. As long as it didn’t require a shield and a spangly kevlar suit.

She’d tried to convince him to leave. There were plenty of available apartments in the city now, she’d argued. Housing was cheap. He could afford it, even without the salary Stark still offered them despite their protests. But he wouldn’t go. He stayed, watching her drown. Watching her spiral.

It came in waves. She’d be fine for a while - not good, only fine - and then suddenly she’d reach into her closet for a clean shirt, pull one out that didn’t belong to her, and he’d find her curled up in bed wearing one of Clint’s old flannels shaking with tears she refused to let him see. She hated it, despised the person she’d turned into, which made everything worse. She wouldn’t speak to him for days at a time, but he’d still be there, making sure she ate and drank water and worked out every once in a while and didn’t spend too much time alone.

Two years and he still refused to leave her.

“Nat, please.” He was begging. Watching her with wide, concerned eyes, at the end of his rope, out of ideas. “Just for a bit. You need to do something.”

“I am doing something,” she replied softly, dropping her eyes to the screen of her tablet that had gone dark. She didn’t bother to wake it. “I’m working.”

“You’re looking for Clint.”  
There it was.

He probably thought she was crazy. Losing her mind. Maybe she was.

But maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Clint wasn’t dead. Maybe the guy that had popped up on their radar six months ago was him. Maybe the shadow that slaughtered entire drug cartels and terrorist cells and horrible people was him trying to be useful. Maybe his entire family had disappeared in the Snap and he’d gone so far off the deep end that he didn’t give a shit about calling her to let him know he was okay, perfectly content with letting the only family he had left think he was dead for two years. Maybe he cared less about her than she thought he did.

Maybe she _was_ crazy.

“I’m not,” she lied, and instead of arguing with her, reminding her that he was gone whether she accepted it or not, he reached out and let his hand fall on her knee, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across the soft cotton of her leggings.

Finally she glanced up at him again, blinking back the tears that blurred the sad eyes looking back at her. God, she couldn’t stand to see him like that, so helplessly _worried_ about her.

“Fine,” she muttered softly, if only for the relieved half-smile he gave her in return. He reached for the jacket she’d pushed away from her and stood, holding out his hand for her. She took it and allowed him to help her twist off of the bed, accepted the jacket, and pulled it on over one of Clint’s old, oversized SHIELD t-shirts that she’d been wearing for the last two days.

They took his bike and she didn’t ask where they were going, held on to him as he took off, leading them away from the compound. It wasn’t until they crossed the Hudson River into Manhattan two hours later that she let herself think maybe he had a direction, wasn’t driving just to drive.

Natasha hadn’t been back to the city since coming back from Wakanda. She didn’t want to, didn’t want to see the desolate, almost empty streets that used to teem with so much life and energy, that used to make her feel like she was home. She didn’t want to see the unlit Avengers Tower, whose new owner had just enough time to remove their name off the side of it before they too had been turned to dust. She didn’t want to see the result of their failure, the insurmountable loss of life that wasn’t just here, but _everywhere_, all over the country and the world and the universe.

The crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and, once the sun had disappeared behind the cities dismal skyline, Steve pulled over into an alley and turned the bike off. The lack of a roaring engine threw them into uncomfortable silence, only made more evident by the eerie quiet of the city. He helped pull her helmet off - at this point she let him, because she couldn’t bear the look he gave her anymore when she refused his help - and started walking, motioning for her to follow.

They still hadn’t spoken, but that was okay with Natasha. She followed him down the sidewalk, and then he turned into a building at the end of the block, holding the door open for her before following her inside.

They were in a diner, one that looked truly vintage, not like those newer ones that tried too hard. He brushed past her and went straight for a booth towards the back, right next to a window that overlooked the street, and sat down.

“If you wanted a burger we could have gone to McDonalds,” Natasha muttered under her breath, sliding into the seat across from him.

“It’s not the same. And that’s not why we’re here,” he replied.

“Then why are we here?”

“I used to live across the street.” Oh. That’s not what she’d expected. She knew they were in Brooklyn, but not…that part of Brooklyn. Steve nodded towards a brick building opposite them. It had definitely been restored at some point, and the ground floor was now a bookstore. Somehow that seemed incredibly appropriate. “Me and Bucky lived in a one room apartment on the top floor before the war. Every week when he got paid we’d come here for fries and a milkshake.”

“No wonder you were sick all the time,” Natasha mumbled before she could stop herself, and he glanced over at her with a small uptick of his lips.

“This place has the _best_ milkshakes in the world.”

“In the _world?_” she replied doubtfully, and his smile widened. “I highly doubt that.”

“They do. I promise.” He leaned back in his booth, his smile fading a bit as he watched her. He was trying _so_ hard, she knew he was, even through the waves of regret and sadness that filled his eyes when he’d mentioned James. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Especially about milkshakes.”

“_Oh_-kay,” she shot back, but still forced a smile to appease him.

An older woman came over just then with a pad of paper in her hand, and she greeted Steve by name with a weary smile. They were friendly, as if they were old friends, and Natasha watched silently as Steve asked her about her granddaughter before ordering them a large plate of fries and two vanilla milkshakes.

“Vanilla?” she asked flatly when the woman walked away, and he shot her a look.

“You trust me?” She just rolled her eyes. “Vanilla is a classic.”

“It’s boring.”

“Not when you’re nineteen-years-old during the depression and the most exciting thing to happen every week is a twenty-cent milkshake.”

Something about the way he muttered the words - phrased as a joke but tainted with a layer of bitterness - sent an ache through her chest. She wondered how often he came here, whether a milkshake in an old diner across the street from the place he lived with the best friend he’d already seen die twice was still the highlight of week. The thought made her feel guilty, like she should have known he sat in a booth alone chatting with the elderly woman that owned the place while she was moping around at the compound by herself.

Natasha couldn’t come up with any words, so she responded by averting her gaze and tracing the woodgrain patterns on the surface of the table. He spent a lot of time in the city lately - he’d been scheduling more group meetings, telling her they were more in demand now that the two year anniversary of the Snap was coming up - but she never imagined he’d spent any of it alone. Maybe this was his way of dealing with it, reliving old memories of the better days, before all of the aliens and nazi takeovers and robots and wars.

The _never-ending_ wars.

Something about that bothered her. Steve wasn’t a talker; he tried, of course, but he was about as good at it as she was. He isolated himself, bottled everything up instead of burdening anyone else with his problems. And on top of everything else, he still worried about her, had all that extra weight on his shoulders.

The woman came back with their food, much quicker than she probably would have if they weren’t the only customers in the restaurant. Steve immediately dug in, shoving a few fries in his mouth while he unwrapped his straw and stuck it in his shake.

“Have you not eaten in a week?” she commented drily, and he shot her a look as he took a sip of his shake.

“Try it,” he said, nodding towards hers. Natasha let out a sigh - she wasn’t sure why she was so reluctant, honestly - and opened her own straw. Steve watched her expectantly as she dropped it unceremoniously into her milkshake and took a small sip.

Okay, so…maybe he was right.

When she went back for more Steve smirked at her from across the table, and she resisted the urge to kick him.

“Good, right?”

“I will admit that this is a good milkshake.”

“And how does it compare to other milkshakes you’ve had in the past?”

He was asking for a punch in the face. But despite the awful mood she was in, she couldn’t deny the way he was grinning over at her was cute. Okay, it was adorable. _Really_ adorable, in a way that made her heart swell while also simultaneously making her feel guilty for the way she’d resisted him. He was just trying to cheer her up, wasn’t he? She could give him that.

Finally she cracked a crooked smile, a real one that was no more than a small uptick of her lips. His eyes washed over with relief and his own grin widened a bit.

“I don’t have much to compare to, but out of all of the milkshakes I remember having in my life, this ranks pretty high.”

“How high?”

“Don’t push it.” She went back to her straw and Steve huffed out a laugh.

They sat in mostly silence while they ate, Steve only mentioning once that he’d known the owner of the restaurant since he was a kid - her father owned it back then - and that her granddaughter lived with her upstairs and helped out sometimes. He didn’t have to tell her why the girl lived with her grandmother, or why they were seemingly the only two who worked there, or why he made such a habit of returning to a struggling business. He almost did, and she noticed when he caught himself and averted the conversation away from the Snap.

He did that a lot. He tiptoed around it, the giant cloud constantly hanging over them. Maybe he thought if he didn’t mention it, it would hurt less. If they didn’t talk about it the pain would go away. That they’d get over it faster.

Clearly it hadn’t been working.

Once they’d finished eating and the woman had cleared away their dishes, Steve pulled out a bill - one that was much too large to cover their inexpensive meal, but she didn’t mention it - and stood. He offered his hand out to her and she took it, letting him help her up from her seat.

He did that a lot too. Natasha assumed by now he’d realized she was only doing it to let him feel useful - anyone else she would have refused the help from - but over the course of their relationship it had become something normal. He’d open doors for her or pull out her seat, or he’d help her out in a fight, and she let him instead of reminding him she didn’t need him to taken care of.

It was kinda nice, if she let herself think about it. Just because she could take care of herself didn’t mean she _had_ to, _all_ the time.

When they got back outside it was dark. Steve led the way back to his bike, but when he reached it he hesitated.

“You wanna…walk around a little?” he asked, glancing back at her.

She didn’t really; she was exhausted - she always was - and wouldn’t complain about crawling back into her bed and isolating herself while she searched every corner of the internet for proof that her best friend wasn't actually dead. But she could already see the look of disappointment on his face if she said no, and it preemptively broke her heart. He was trying so hard, and shutting him out again so fast would result in another of the sad, puppy-eyed look she was already so accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

Plus, this was his home…his _real_ home. It was probably comforting to him, being here, and why he drove two hours to work several days of the week. Why he’d tried to convince her to move here with him. Why he’d brought her here in the first place, hoping to spread some of that feeling to her.

So she nodded and stepped back, waiting for him to lead the way. He offered her a smile and nodded down the street before walking in that direction.

They fell into a comfortable silence again as they made their way through the neighborhood. Steve would point out landmarks every once in a while: the school he and James went to as kids, the alley that they would play baseball in with the other kids in the neighborhood (well, James played, he clarified. He mostly kept score), the secret underground SSR building where he received the serum.

Clint used to do this, after he saved her life and brought her back to SHIELD. He and Laura lived in a little two bedroom apartment in DC at the time, and on her bad days he'd force her outside and they'd walk around the city, sometimes for hours at a time. She wouldn't talk much but he would, about the most random things. Sometimes it would be a cute story about Laura, sometimes it was something heavier from his dark past, and sometimes it was some stupid shit that happened to him at work once. 

But it helped. It calmed her down, gave her something to focus on. Helped her pull herself out of her own mind a little and realize she _could_ care about people, especially this man who had, for some reason she'd still never figured out, decided she was worth the effort. It helped her create a connection with someone who wasn't just as brainwashed and tortured as she was and realize she could be a person - a _real_ person - outside of what the Red Room had made her. And eventually she'd started talking back, opening up to him little by little and allowing him to be there for her.

But she didn't want to think about that right now. If she thought about Clint too much she'd fall down right where she stood and she wasn't sure Steve would be able to pick her back up.

Eventually they made it to the entrance of the Brooklyn Promenade, but Steve suddenly stopped and let out a groan. Natasha glanced up to see what he was looking at and found herself staring at a giant, bronze-plated statue of Steve.

“I forgot they moved this thing here,” he muttered under his breath, He glanced over at Natasha, who saw him blushing out of the corner of her eyes as she stared up at it. She'd forgotten about it too, and remembered him complaining about it years ago, but had never actually gotten around to seeing it.

He was posed with his shield held high in the air and other hand curled into a fist, one foot braced on a rock while he glared defiantly at whatever nonexistent enemy he’d just defeated. He was in a simplified version of his old combat suit, the one he used to wear after they moved to the compound and the entire time they were on the run. It was a bit cartoonish, but they’d gotten his facial features exactly right. There was a quote on the base of it, and Natasha slowly crossed the plaza to read the words.

_The price of freedom is high, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay. And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not._

She found herself reaching out, running her fingers across the raised letters. The words weren’t exactly right, but that had been a chaotic day. It wasn’t likely whoever repeated them had heard everything he’d said over the intercom system at SHIELD. But the message was the same, and it struck her how perfect it was to go along with something meant to commemorate his heroism.

Natasha hadn’t realized her vision was blurring over until she felt Steve approach her and glanced up to meet his concerned gaze. She tried to blink away the tears filling her eyes but it was useless, and one of them slid down her cheek.

“Sorry,” she breathed, dropping her eyes down the the ground. “I…I don’t know…why-“

“It’s okay.” He reached out and cupped the side of her face, nudging her back up to look at him. He offered her a sad smile and swiped his thumb under her eye, brushing away the wetness.

“No it’s not,” she argued weakly, shaking her head. She swallowed thickly against the burning in the back of her throat. “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been treating you like shit.”

“It’s _okay_,” he insisted. “This…it isn’t something you just…_get over_.”

“You did,” she replied with a huff. He let out a sigh, his brows knitting together sadly.

“Nat-“

“You’re so…_put together_. You’re sleeping. You’re eating. You’re helping people. You’re not chasing down a fucking ghost every goddamn day.”

“I’m definitely not sleeping,” he replied softly.

“But you’re still _okay_. Having fries and milkshakes like…like the world didn’t end two years ago and everything is fine.”

“_Natasha_-“

“All I do is drag you down. You’re here trying to make the best of it like you always do, and I’m just…ruining everything.”

“I’m not trying to make the _best_ of anything, Nat. I just…” He let out an exhausted, frustrated sigh and she pulled away from him, suddenly very conscious of the fact that she’d just started crying, out of nowhere, and in public no less. Not that there was anyone around, but the thought of Steve seeing her break down like this was borderline mortifying, especially after all he’d done in his attempts to avoid this. “I’m just trying to survive it. Just like you, just like _everyone_ else.”

“Then why are you still here?” Natasha definitely hadn’t meant for it to sound so…pathetic. But her voice was shaking and tears were now streaming steadily down her face, and Steve was looking at her with those goddamn sad puppy eyes again. “Why haven’t you left like everyone else?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He took a step forward and wrapped his hand around her arm, turning her towards him again. “I told you I wasn’t leaving, and I meant it.”

“All you do is take care of me. You’d be better off here, living your life. In your home.”

“You _are_ my home, Nat.” Natasha’s mouth gaped open at that, unable to come up with another argument. “I haven’t left because I _can’t_. Not without you. I can’t-“ He hesitated and averted his gaze. “I can’t leave you. Not only because of the guilt or…or worrying about you, but because you’re the only thing that’s gotten me through this.”

“That can’t be true,” Natasha breathed, unconvinced. He met her gaze again and his jaw tightened as his eyes burned into hers.

“It is,” he insisted, his voice low. “Seeing you every day, doing everything I can to make you feel better…it’s the only thing that’s gotten me this far. And yeah, I…I wish I could do more, I wish I could…make your pain go away, or tell you I know he’s still alive-“ Natasha’s breath hitched in her lungs at the mention of Clint, even though he’d avoided using his name. “-and it kills me that I can’t. But I love you, and I can’t just-“

“_What?_”

It came out barely louder than a breath, but Steve still heard her and stopped abruptly. His eyes widened and he gaped at her as his words caught up to him. She could only stare back, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

“Nat-“

“You love me?”

Steve’s jaw tightened and he dropped his gaze to the ground. “I kinda…thought it was obvious.”

It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t it make sense? Of course Steve cared about her, they were friends. She cared about him too. Except…

Except it was more than that. As many times as she’d told him to leave, tried to convince him to move back to the city, the thought of him actually following through was enough to break her. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. She’d already lost Clint, and while she still hadn’t let herself mourn over him and accept that he was gone, she couldn’t fathom losing Steve too.

She’d had nightmares about it, about turning around and watching Steve turn to dust in front of her. About him being punched in the face by Thanos and not getting up. About him finally following her advice, disappearing to Brooklyn and leaving her just like everyone else did. She’d wake up in a cold sweat at the peak of a panic attack, her heart racing wildly and whole body shaking and tears streaming down her face.

And then she’d practically bolt out of her room and across the hall to Steve’s, climb into his bed whether he was there or not. When he was he’d pull her tight against his chest and wrap his arms protectively around her, kissing her hair and whispering in her ear that it was okay, it was just a dream. When he wasn’t, if it was the middle of the day and he was gone, she’d try to calm herself down enough to fall back to sleep and wake up with him next to her, reading or scrolling on a tablet or watching tv. He’d smile at her and offer to get her some tea or water, then tell her he brought her lunch or dinner and bring it to her so she could eat while they watched reruns of some sitcom they’d already seen a million times before.

He _loved_ her. It _was_ obvious, she’d just buried herself deep into the pit of her own mind, shutting him out while she tried to get by on her own. Refusing to admit how much she needed him too, convincing herself he’d be much better off without her. She’d accepted that his refusal to leave her was just him being polite. He’d always been like that…not just after the Snap, but in that bunker after Hydra blew it up, when she chased after Bruce and treated him like shit, when the Accords happened and he tracked her down after that disaster in Budapest.

But it wasn’t just that. It was so much more than that, and suddenly all of it clicked in her brain. The way he protected her, how he always knew where she was in a fight and saved her life so many times. How hard he tried to make her smile, especially after they lost all of their friends, and took care of her on the days when she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. How he acted around Bruce, despite the fact that whatever they thought they had years ago was in the past and they were still friends now that he was home.

The way he looked at her, like she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen in all his one-hundred-and-two years of life.

But that wasn’t all. It was like a floodgate had been opened and was letting every single thing she’d locked away over the years come crashing to the forefront of her mind. There was a reason she’d stuck by him for so long, why she’d refused to leave his side even when everything came crashing down around them. Why she’d nearly lost it when James almost killed him in the helicarrier, why she’d tried to force herself into a relationship with someone else, why she gave up her own freedom for him. Why she’d opened up to him so many times, why she trusted him with her life, why she would would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her to.

_Shit_.

She didn’t know how long she’d been staring at him, but he was still staring back despite how his face had fallen. The cars passing by on the highway below them and waves crashing along the shoreline had faded into background noise under her pulse thumping wildly in her veins. Steve loosened his grip on her arm and let his hand fall away, but she quickly reached out to grab his wrist.

“I can leave,” he said finally, his voice sounding heartbreakingly defeated. “I’m sure I can…find a place pretty quick. If you really want me to.”

Natasha slid her hand down to slide her fingers between his as she scrambled for something to say. She _didn’t_ want that, not in the slightest. Maybe she felt guilty and wanted better for him…but the glaringly obvious truth was that she didn’t want him to leave her, and if he did, it would be the thing that finally broke her for good.

So instead of words she pulled lightly on his hand, forcing him to step closer to her. He was watching her carefully, unsure of what she was doing. She didn’t even know the answer to that until she was doing it, reaching up to brush her thumb across his jaw, his chin, and his lips. They curved up into a nervous but amused smile and his eyes met hers, sparkling bright blue and gold from the overhanging street lamps, wet with unshed tears.

And then she was sliding her hand into his hair and pulling herself up towards him, meeting his lips halfway. He kissed her back softly, letting his hands fall to her hips to pull her closer. It spread a warmth through her, like every single time he smiled at her or touched her or even looked at her but infinitely amplified, and she wondered why the hell she hadn’t done this sooner.

It was nothing like the last time she’d kissed him on that escalator years ago: the panic that had overwhelmed her the second his lips had pressed against hers, the stiff, uncomfortable way he’d held on to her, and the confusing thoughts swirling around in her brain when she’d turned around and left him there in an attempt to put as much space between them as possible. She hadn’t realized _why_ she’d reacted that way until now, but suddenly it all fell into place and perfect sense in her mind.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said softly, her lips moving against his. She felt the burn in the back of her throat again and her eyes stung with fresh tears. Her hand fell to grip the front of his jacket, as if holding him there would stop him. “_Please_. Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“Everyone else did,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “Thor left, Bruce, Rhodey and Tony and Pepper…and Clint-“ her voice caught in her throat and she took a deep breath, a tear running down her cheek. Steve slid his hand up and brushed it away, letting his hand linger on the side of her face. “He's…he's dead. Laura and the kids are dead. And Wanda. And...and Sam, and James, and I…I don’t have anyone else-”

He cut her off by suddenly pulling her towards him again, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight to his chest. She finally allowed herself to let out a muffled sob, clinging tight to his jacket while he ran his hands up and down her back.

“I’m not gonna leave,” he mumbled into her hair. “I promise.”

“And I…” she trailed off, swallowing thickly. She _had_ to say it, but the thought terrified her. It was only three tiny little words, ones that would change absolutely everything. And even though she knew without a doubt that they were true...it scared the absolute shit out of her. “I...love you.”

“I know.” Steve pulled back and his lips curved up into the softest, sweetest smile he’d ever given her, and it made her heart swell in her chest. He angled forward to press a kiss against her forehead and Natasha closed her eyes, leaning into it. “It’s getting late, you wanna head home?”

She nodded and he pulled away, giving her one last kiss before taking his hand in hers and leading the way back down the Promenade. He held her hand the entire way back to his bike, and when she climbed onto it behind him she leaned her head against his back, gripping him tightly the entire drive back to the compound.

Instead of crawling in next to him after waking from yet another nightmare, Natasha fell asleep with him already in her bed that night, his arms wrapped possessively around her, whispering in her ear how much he loved her. And for the first time she could remember, she actually slept, dreamlessly, all the way until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> the milkshake scene, in case anyone doesn't know, is an actual canon thing taken from the captain america homecoming comic where steve does indeed take natasha to brooklyn for the best milkshakes in the world. and then they go beat some guys up. it's cute.
> 
> also, the line about following steve to the ends of the earth was taken from the heroes' journey book. also cute.
> 
> thanks for reading! <3 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/capsiclewidow) | [tumblr](https://capsiclewidow.tumblr.com)


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